


Distractions to the Square Root of Pi

by aphelion_orion



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphelion_orion/pseuds/aphelion_orion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Congratulations. You found the budget report."</p>
<p>Ky does paperwork in unconventional ways, and Sol stretches the definition of "contribution."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions to the Square Root of Pi

**Author's Note:**

> Because sex doesn't always have to be serious business.

There were days when Sol was convinced that none of what was happening… was happening.

Even a good one-hundred and fifty years after the fact, there were still times when he would charge at a giant multicolored butterfly dissolving a horse in its mandibles, half-certain that this was all the result of eating some iffy leftover pepperoni pizza with green onions. That he would wake up in his office on top of smudged calculations, with a paper due and no TPS coversheet in sight, and that someone would inevitably need him to come kick the copy machine.

The same kind of disconnect had been happening in the mornings lately, when he'd half-wake with his face on something that didn't smell like seven kinds of death, something that made displeased sleepy noises whenever he moved and happened to pull up the blankets.

There was always that odd minute or two when he was certain he'd gotten himself knocked out in a ditch somewhere and had finally managed to hallucinate something worth looking at. That odd minute where he'd nuzzle into the generic soap scent just because he could, until the pretty apparition pulled back to give him the look one tended to give the imminently deranged.

Trying to convince the kid that this was the standard greeting in this type of situation had backfired, but that didn't mean he couldn't still enjoy himself. In fact, the kid was a lot more laid back about this stuff than he'd initially thought; after that awkward start, it had taken barely any effort to coax him into bed. Not that there was much talk happening, Ky all too happy to trade his personal space for the prospect of warm feet and a meatshield in case things got nasty. Sol might have been more upset about what this said for his seduction skills if the sex hadn't been so damn nice.

One downside to shagging Ky, though, was that he tended to get up at an ungodly hour in the morning, snatching the sheets as he went hunting for his clothes in the pre-dawn gloom and paying little heed to Sol's threats to end the universe. In fact, the only times he didn't pull something like this was when he was either hurt, or sick, or both.

So when Sol woke up this morning, still snug in the blankets and allowed to get over his two-minute disconnect with the world in a less abrupt fashion, the whiff he took was one of inquisitiveness. The kid didn't smell sick, at least.

"Mnn?"

Not very eloquent, but Ky had become sufficiently fluent in four-o'clock-speak to discern most of what he wanted to say.

No answer, so Sol reached out, slowly running a hand along his leg. By now, he was pretty sure the kid was ignoring him for some reason or another — Ky might be able to zonk out half-buried underneath him, but give him an intentional prod and he'd be awake faster than humanly possible.

"Hmm?"

A little higher, up to the jut of his hipbone, towards that spot Sol was quite sure was ticklish if the kid would ever relax enough to respond with anything besides irritation.

His hand hit something. Something distinctly not any part of Ky's, though it might as well have been, from the crinkle it gave under his fingers.

"Congratulations. You've found the budget report."

Beneath him, Ky shifted, extricating the balance sheet from the blankets. Sol took a moment to process the idea that the kid was actually fastidious enough to drag paperwork to bed with him, and to calmly take it out the morning after to do some naked math.

"…okay, this is still pretty sexy," he conceded.

Ky paused.

"…if you say so," he said eventually, in the tone of voice that told Sol he found the entire concept of sexiness utterly bizarre and most certainly didn't get what was supposed to be attractive about dull, work-related tasks. "Stay still, please. I haven't got anywhere to put this."

More crinkling, and before he could ask what the kid was up to, the cold spread of a map landed square on his back.

"Hey! What are you…"

Ky adjusted the map, adjusted himself, grabbed a pencil and went to work.

"…are you using me for a table?"

"As I was saying, I don't have anywhere to put this. It's cold, and my desk is all the way over there."

Well, that was some improvement on the kid's self-imposed martyrdom, but… "Does it really behoove you to do this at four in the morning, Kiske? Can't you just enjoy a moment?"

Ky considered this, and reached for the pencil sharpener. "I'm already spending too much time on my own enjoyment. In case you missed it, we have a war to win."

"Yes, how dare you have a life," Sol huffed, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to win this one. The kid already had enough problems with changing his schedule to something marginally less inhumane so he could shave off some thirty-odd minutes of nookie for himself.

He sighed, squinting. "Give me your starting point. Just don't stick any pins in it."

Another pause, before there was a light poke along his upper spine.

"Ah. So… wait, which map are you using? The fifteen-minute one?"

"Yes." The pencil traced a sharp incline up to his right shoulder blade.

"We're hitting Belgium, then?"

"Charleville, actually. I want a more immediate report of the situation first — the Lord knows intelligence has been poor lately. Depending on what we learn there, we'll move towards Bouillon." Another pencil line, followed by a circle. "Worst of the fighting's expected here, in this area."

"'S difficult terrain," Sol muttered against the juncture of Ky's neck. A nice fringe benefit to being made to think this early in the morning, and the kid didn't even twitch when he lingered, tracing one of the tendons with his lips. "If there's nothing important in the way, how about telling them to retreat to… something five kilometers south?"

"That would put half the battalion right in a gorge," Ky pointed out.

"Huh? Wait, something's not right here. Line up Wallonia with my shoulder, I can't feel where you are." Sol shifted, pulling himself up. "Ah, there we go."

And there went any pretense of discussing strategy, because now he had his nose stuck in the nice-smelling fluff and was within reach of the kid's face.

"I was thinking of moving this regiment just three kilometers west—" Ky continued, "—do remove your tongue from my ear, thank you — so we could actually — stop it — try to take that ridge."

"Mhm. Sounds good," Sol agreed, and nipped on the curve of his jaw.

"I'd also like for them to widen the scope of the evacuation. I'd rather not have another disaster like in Holland last month."

"Hm, you do that," Sol said, worming a hand under the kid's back, searching for the good spots. The aggravating thing about Ky was how apt he was at not losing his pace — once he was in command mode, nothing short of drastic measures could get him out of it.

He pressed down at the base of his spine, and was rewarded with a tiny jerk.

"How about you contribute to this," Ky said, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"I am contributing."

"Trying to grope my butt is not contributing."

"Nobody else in the history of time would be complaining, Kiske," Sol said, and decided to move in for the kill.

"Gah. Stop touching there!"

"Stop touching where?" Sol asked, not even bothering to sound anything but satisfied, fingers moving in small circles. His patience was starting to pay off; the kid wasn't one for big reactions, so the small tremble alone spoke volumes.

"Don't make me — ngh — knock you into the wall."

He choked on a snicker, partly because the mental image of the tent collapsing on top of them was hilarious, and partly because Ky had managed to wedge a thigh between his legs.

"That's what you get for playing with lions instead of kittens, kid."

"Hah. You're not a lion, you're just a horrible amorphous solid. Get off!"

A shove, and he allowed himself to be pushed, rolling over the edge of the cot and hitting the ground, the kid's weight dropping on his midsection leaving him winded. A moment later, the map fluttered on his head.

Well, that had been decidedly more alluring in theory.

He lifted the map, only to come nose to nose with the kid's glare. "Hi."

"You."

"Me."

"Are highly unproductive and often irritating."

"Mhm."

"That's no reason to be pleased with yourself."

"Maybe, maybe not," Sol murmured, and leaned up to plant one on the kid.

A shiver.

"Cold?"

"And whose fault is that?" Ky asked, tugging the sheets back around his shoulders.

"Perhaps," Sol said, resting both hands on his knees. "I should learn to take my responsibilities seriously, then."

"Yes," Ky agreed, "yes, you should," and yanked him into another kiss.

Huh. That was… new.

He knew that mood, the mood that let the kid stand taller than anyone else on the battlefield, the same mood that would bleed into their duels and make the kid come at him with fire and fight in his eyes. It was always a kick to watch him move beyond form, beyond rules, and Sol had often wondered what it'd be like to have that intensity applied to other things. Ky'd gotten grabby plenty of times before, but never with that purpose.

Well, if the kid was going to give it his all, he was certainly not going to disappoint, either.

It was nice to get right to it without clothes in the way, to run his hands up Ky's thighs and feel the goose bumps, fine hairs rising against his touch. Rubbing back and forth, he let the fire work its magic, palms heating up to something just this shy of scalding. Exactly the way the kid liked it. The way that made him sigh, sliding back on Sol's hips and pulling Sol with him, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Good?" Sol murmured, the word half-swallowed by Ky's busy mouth.

The kid pulled back to look at him as if assessing a piece of equipment, and decided, "Better."

"Oi."

Another kiss heralded the end of that argument, both of them more interested in things other than sniping. Ky dragged his fingers down his chest, small points of ice slowly warming up as he got lower, digging in hard when Sol moved in the opposite direction, leaving paths of heat up his back and along his sides.

The hand in his hair gave a tug, tilting his head and making a part of him bristle, stupid predator instincts jumping at shadows—

"No?" The question was murmured against his throat, lips trailing down further when he didn't answer. A small pause, before they closed around his Adam's apple, sucking hard, and the wittiest thing he could think to say was, "Fuck."

There should have been something to do here, something to keep it from feeling so damn good, but the spark kindled by the light, teasing touch of teeth sent any thoughts of retaliation flying out the window. He jerked, hips bucking into Ky's, felt more than heard the small strangled noise against his skin, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.

Reaching out, he grabbed Ky's ass to pull him closer, felt the kid go rigid and grind back — once, twice, fingers clenching against Sol's biceps as he moved, and Sol realized he never really got to watch that part, never got to watch the kid get off riding him, and fuck, that'd be hot, right?

He leaned back a bit, knuckles jabbing into the hollows beneath the tent floor, the kid's grip loosening a little to allow for the change in position. Other than that, Ky just kept on moving, lips pressed together and a flush high in his cheeks, breath hitching slightly with every push. One of those days, he'd love to hear the kid make some noise — really make noise — but this was good, too, having the rhythm of these choked little sounds and seeing the kid's head fall back, eyes screwing shut, arms and legs tightening like iron bands as he came.

Ky hunched over, resting his forehead against Sol's collarbone, sweat dripping from his bangs, breath coming in short, hot explosions against his skin. Having the kid all boneless and relaxed like this was a real treat, but he was still all fired up himself, and it'd be a shame to let that afterimage go to waste.

He squirmed a little, one hand slipping from Ky's ass to reach for his own cock, but before he could, the weight lifted from his shoulder.

"Wait."

"Damn, kid, another time, I'm—"

But then Ky was nudging him out of the way, warm, sweaty hand firmly wrapping around him, and all he could do was swallow a moan.

"Fuck, you're—"

There was that disconnect again, staring into the stubborn concentration written on the kid's face, and it certainly wasn't the most skillful handjob he'd ever gotten, but Ky was so determined to get it just right. He let out a shuddering, pleasured laugh — damn that felt good — Ky's hand on him, fingers curling, palm carefully smoothing down his length, and — would the kid handle himself like this, if he ever had the mind to spare?

The entire thing couldn't have lasted more than a couple of moments, but it was that thought that did him in, the kid stroking himself with the exact same precision, working to finish in the two-minute timeframe he'd given himself because that was the way he did everything — and then he lost it completely.

They lay in a heap for a little while after that, him slowly catching his breath and unwinding, the kid leaning against him and dispensing what would have seemed like dog scritches with any other person, but which were actually his fairly serious attempts at post-coital snuggles. Sol might have commented on that if his mind hadn't been so pleasantly blown, entirely content to savor the aftermath.

The kid wriggled around a bit, crowding closer and trying to pull off the difficult feat of looking like he was not doing so for heat-leeching purposes.

Ah, well. He might as well be nice today, since he'd already managed to convince Ky to give up work for play.

Ky gave a little hum at the change in temperature, edging closer still, and Sol was actually fully prepared to spend the next half hour getting scritched and playing live-in heater, when he heard a familiar crinkle.

"…What are you doing?"

In lieu of an answer, he only got more rustling, and then, "Checking the supply routes. Have you seen my sharpener?"

"…You know, your bedside manner really, really sucks."

"I thought you didn't care about my bedside manner?" Ky pointed out reasonably, fingers finding the special spot behind his ear without effort.

"Your nefarious attempts at bribery do nothing," Sol muttered, already resigned to the fact that his idiot side had fallen prey to the infamous Kiske multitasking abilities.

"Of course not," Ky nodded, and reached for the pencil.

 

-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Older fic that I forgot to archive here the first time around. Ah well. Hope you enjoyed it, roughness and all. ^^


End file.
